


a diplomatic call

by verity



Series: tween wolf [20]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Pack Dynamics, Smoking, Unexpected Visitors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 16:11:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/776169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verity/pseuds/verity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a werewolf in the kitchen when she goes inside, and it's not Laura or Derek or Scott.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a diplomatic call

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blue_rocket_frost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_rocket_frost/gifts), [whiskey_in_tea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskey_in_tea/gifts).



Daphne gets home around 9, drops her stuff off on the couch before she goes out to the porch for a smoke. Laura won't let anyone smoke in the house, possibly because it's a werewolf's olfactory nightmare and possibly because most of her family died in a fire, which Daphne respects. After they left the Stilinski place, Laura had to go straight into work, grabbing the spare uniform she keeps in the back of the car when Daphne dropped her off at the station. With donuts. Because Daphne is the best human being in the entire world.

Smoking is familiar, calms her down. Daphne takes a long drag on her cigarette and lets the smoke fill her lungs before she lets it out with a slow exhale. It's been years since she's had a panic attack, but not that long since she had to sit with Derek in the kitchen while he got all toothy and shaky over a Jewel CD she'd found under the passenger seat in the minivan and brought into torment him. Everyone in her pack is fucked up, even Stiles, who is on year five of sticking his fingers in his ears and humming whenever anyone mentions the pack thing. Whatever. He's a kid.

Daphne's been there, sort of.

—

There's a werewolf in the kitchen when she goes inside, and it's not Laura or Derek or Scott.

Daphne grabs the mountain ash dirk she put on the top of the fridge for emergencies. Emergencies that have never happened, nothing since Peter years ago, and the rest of her life before that. "Get out," she says. "If you have something to say to Laura, you can leave a business card like a normal person and we'll get back to you never."

"I didn't come for your alpha. I'm here to speak to you," the werewolf says. He's like Derek: wolfed out, he doesn't have eyebrows, looks like he walked out of the makeup chair on _Angel_ before they finished turning him into a broody nightmare.

"Uh huh." Daphne steps back into the dining room cautiously, sets down one foot on the hardwood and then the other. "How about we do this in public with some witnesses around? Because you're really not off to a great start, invading my house and creeping me out and all. You do know that Laura's not just the alpha here, right? She's a Deputy of Beacon County. If you fuck me with us, you're going to have the law on your ass, buddy."

The werewolf tilts his head. "How charming. She's chosen well for a second. You're an interesting choice, an immune, but I see the appeal." He moves toward her, nods toward the the living room. "Go on, sit down. No need to talk in here. And don't try to run—you're not fast enough to get away, nor foolish enough, I think."

The dirk is light in her hand. It's hard to believe what Deaton said, that it could protect her. "I'll stand," Daphne says.

"Very well," the werewolf says. "I'll sit, then. I suppose that's as it should be."

—

The werewolf is Merton Sheffield, second of the Sheffield pack two hours south. Daphne's heard of them before—Derek told her, once, about the packs in California, the ones he knows of, on the drive from Beacon Hills down to Sacramento and her flight to Boston—but she's never met anyone from another pack. Laura doesn't talk about that stuff.

"Your pack has been out of touch with our community since the tragedy," Merton says, eyes flashing gold for a moment. "I'm here as your neighbor, as a courtesy. We have long considered the Hale pack our friends. Your Derek used to run with our alpha when they were small."

"You have a young alpha, then." Daphne's not sure what that means for another pack, but in Laura's case, it involved a lot of murder.

He nods. "My niece, Veda. She is new to the position, and I am here on her behalf."

"Okay," Daphne says. "So… were we supposed to bring a casserole? Send a card?"

"That is customary, yes," Merton says. "But we have made allowances. It is traditional to give a pack seven years to grieve and rebuild after such a loss."

The Hale fire was almost six years ago. "And after that?"

"Your territory is open to challenge, of course." Merton smiles at her.

Her hand tightens around the handle of the dirk. "Is that a threat?"

"Merely a reminder," he says. "We mean you no harm, Hale. Our packs have long been friends, but we are unable to offer the support we once did; our numbers, like yours, are diminished. Your boundaries are weak. They could not keep me from entering your territory unwelcomed, let alone your den. If you remain as few as you are, withdrawn from the world, others may take it as an invitation."

"Okay, message delivered," Daphne says. "We're done here. Give your alpha our kisses and hugs or whatever, we won't shank you in the back, let's not shake on it and say we did."

Merton gets to his feet, unnecessarily smooths the fabric of his immaculately creased pants. "Do you speak for your alpha as well?"

"No," Daphne says, because she's pre-law and knows better than to make any binding agreements without counsel. "We'll get back to you."

—

Derek shows up ten minutes after Daphne finally gets Merton to leave, flustered and frantic. "Laura said you were in danger," he says. "She could feel—there was another _wolf_ here, what the—"

"No shit," Daphne says. She's still holding the dirk, fingers trembling. "Some asshole. From another pack. Paying a diplomatic call."

This was clearly not the answer Derek was expecting. "A diplomatic call?"

Daphne scrubs at her eyes with one hand. "We are so fucked, Derek. _So fucked._ "

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [ladyofthelog](http://ladyofthelog.tumblr.com) on tumblr.
> 
> And I am sorry for giving you so many cliffhangers. AT LEAST I UPDATE ALMOST DAILY RIGHT????


End file.
